


Queen of Winter

by BaddestWolf



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-10-27
Updated: 2012-11-01
Packaged: 2017-11-17 03:04:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/546954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BaddestWolf/pseuds/BaddestWolf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ten years after Sansa flees to the Eyrie with Petyr Baelish, the North is still in shambles and House Stark is decimated. Sansa returns to Winterfell to claim her rightful place. The opposition is fierce, but through strange twists of fate Jon Snow, Theon Greyjoy, and her brother Rickon become her sworn shields. And that is when other ghosts from the past reemerge. WIP.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Her Father's Voice

"My husband is dead, Lord Baelish. And, having never provided him with a son, the Eyrie will pass to some obscure Arryn, and my tenuous place here will be stripped from me," Sansa gazed at the clouds as she leaned over the stone windowsill.

Petyr Baelish sat solemnly at a table across the room, eyeing her wearily. "Yet, what would you have me do, my lady?"

"I want to go home," She turned to him with a steely gaze, "I never wanted run of the Eyrie. That is not to say I'm not grateful for what you did, bringing me here and ensuring my safety." She crossed the room and sat down at the table, opposite Baelish. When she began again her voice was low. "There is something my father used to tell my brothers,  _There must always be a Stark in Winterfell_ , he would say. Those words haunt me still. There has been no Stark in Winterfell for nigh on ten years, and as each year passes with no news of my brothers, or of Arya, I fear that I am the only Stark left. If that is so, I  _must_ return to Winterfell, no matter the cost."

Petyr narrowed his eyes at Sansa, studying her. Long ago, she had given up the ruse of their kinship and stopped dying her hair. She sat in front of him now, twenty-two years old, and more determined than she had ever been before. Her copper hair fell in waves over her shoulders, reaching down to the low neckline of her light blue gown.  _She has her mother's body_ , he mused  _but she speaks with her father's voice._

"Sansa, the North is in shambles. The rest of the Seven Kingdoms will have nothing to do with the hell the Boltons have created. I've heard tell that wildlings, and even the Others have been living south of the Wall. The Night's Watch…well, what's left of the Night's Watch does all they can."

Sansa closed her eyes, pursing her lips. "It will not be easy. But tell me honestly, is it possible?"

"There are houses in the North still loyal to the Starks, though they will not admit it outright given the current circumstance. And others are no friend of the Boltons, and might rally against them, should the true heir to the Winterfell arise."

"Bran is the true heir to Winterfell."

"Bran has not been seen since the Turncloak took your castle. Legally, he is dead until we are shown proof to the contrary. The same can be said for Rickon and for Arya. You are the true heir to Winterfell. You are the  _only_ heir."

Sansa slammed her hands on the table and stood up, "Then help me take what is mine." She paced around the room a few times, then stopped in her tracks. For a second she had let Cersei Lannister's influence creep into her actions, and she hated herself for it. She sat back down and took Petyr's hands in hers.

"I'm sorry. Now that I have no ties to the Eyrie, I fear my conscience will not let me rest until I am back home. I spent my childhood wishing for nothing more than to go south and to marry a lord and have his children. I have done two of those things and in doing so, I have seen enough of the South that I should never want to set foot here again. It may be that the northern blood is stronger in me than I once believed."

Baelish sighed and leaned his head down to kiss one of her hands. "If you feel that strongly about it, my lady, I will do what I can to fulfill you wish." He dropped her hands and stood, sliding into a low bow before he left.

Once the door shut behind him Sansa placed her head in her hands, just before the warm tears started to fall. She had spent years hardening her heart against thoughts of her family, but she had always had something else to hold onto. Now she was alone, and she felt the weight of her burden. She was all that was left of House Stark.

She got up and crossed back over to the window, her gown scratching against the rough floor behind her. She knelt at the window and dried her tears. Closing her eyes, she prayed to each of her gods in turn.

"Mother, I have no children to protect. I am the last Stark, but it must not always be so. Somehow, I ask that you'd grant me an heir to continue my father's blood.

Father, it is for your sake I undertake this fool's errand. Protect me and those who risk themselves in aiding me as I seek justice for all wrongs.

Maiden, remind me of who I used to be so long ago, when things were better.

Crone, guide me, for this path will be long and painful in so many ways.

Smith, guide Petyr's hand. I know he will not truly consent to helping me unless a plan is forged that carries minimal risk.

Warrior, sweet warrior, you protected Robb in his battles, and my father in his, and though I am a woman, I ask you'd grant me the same, if only for their sakes.

Stranger, I know I call to you on the rarest of occasions, and yet today I ask the most of you. It has been long since the North remembered, and I may not have as many friends there as I believe. In my heart, there remains a chance that I might see my family again. Rickon, Bran, and Arya may not be dead, but if they still live, it is only you that can guide them back to me. Even my bastard brother across the Wall, if he still lives, seeing him would bring me great joy.

Old gods of the North, my father's gods, hear me now. Give me strength to do what must be done. In my veins runs the blood of the First Men, the blood of the Kings of Winter, of the direwolf, and of your loyal Eddard Stark. I am his heir, and I will take back my home."


	2. The Color of Mourning

Petyr slid from his horse, his cloak flowing behind him. He was surrounded, but the mountain clans of the Vale had long since proven that they could be bought off. They watched him suspiciously and he was well aware of the spears pointed in his direction.

“What do you want?” A huge man with a deep voice asked him.

Petyr recognized the man at once. His features and his demeanor had changed little since he had last seen him in King’s Landing. “Do you know who I am?”

Shagga son of Dolf grunted at him. “I ask the questions, not you. You betrayed the Halfman, I should kill you and feed you to the goats.”

“In the past. It’s all in the past. And I never wished him ill. Some things were more important.”

“Why are you here?” Shagga asked, stepping closer.

Petyr held up a bag and tossed it to Shagga. The chieftain’s eyes widened as he inspected the gold inside. Petyr bit back the smirk that was forming on his lips. He had them, and he knew he had them. “There is more than that, much more, once your task is finished.”

Shagga turned and handed the gold to a scraggly man behind him, then stepped to within an inch of Petyr’s face. His breath was rank, and Petyr did his best not to gag at the proximity. “You are a snake of a man. What does the Snake want the Stone Crows to do?”

“Return Sansa Stark to Winterfell.”

“The Halfman’s bride? The one _you_ stole? Why do you not take her yourself?”

“It is not within my power to do alone. The way is barred by many enemies, those that would see her dead,” Petyr backed up from Shagga as the man pondered. They stared at eachother for a moment before Shagga reached out a hand and grabbed Petyr’s forearm, digging his fingers in.

“Shagga son of Dolf agrees. The Stone Crows will take your coin. We will protect your girl. And we will take more coin.”

_Is it my coin they want, or revenge for Tyrion Lannister?_ Petyr had the thought before he could stop himself, but he pushed it aside. He finally allowed himself a half smile. He bowed and remounted his horse, still under heavy watch by dozens of mountain men. “I thank you, Stone Crows, for your help. You will be rewarded for your loyalty. Be ready for the journey at any moment. I do not know when I will return with Sansa. But when I do, we must go.”

Shagga grunted and gave a little nod, just enough to show he agreed. Petyr kicked the horse under him and rode quickly out of the mountain men’s territory. He didn’t mind striking bargains with them in the daylight, but he preferred not to be caught on their land in the dark.

When he began the slow, steep climb back to the Eyrie, Petyr let his horse take charge and he sat thinking, running plan after plan, and contingency after contingency through his head. He could not deny Sansa this one thing. It was her right, after all. If he played his cards right, Winterfell might eventually be his castle, too.

Once he finally reached the Eyrie, Petyr was exhausted. He wanted nothing more than to sleep, now that the sun had dipped below the horizon. But there were still things that needed doing. He shuffled up to his chambers and lit the candles on his desk. There was a stack of parchment in front of him and he sat down with a sigh, pulling out a quill.

He wrote six letters, scratching out the same words on each piece of parchment. It took him nearly two hours, and when he was done, he laid them out across the table. He wiped his eyes with his hands and then pushed them through his greying hair.

“Alrik,” Petyr called as he stood and poured himself a glass of blood red wine.

His steward, a lanky boy of ten, with sand-colored hair and a goofy smile opened the door and peered at him with large eyes, “Yes, Lord Baelish?”

“Fetch me Lady Hardyng. I wish to speak with her.”

“Yes, my lord,” The boy said and bounded out the door, leaving it ajar.

Petyr sighed and took a sip of his wine, glancing back at the parchments strewn across the table. He had no idea if these letters would help, or if they would get Sansa killed. But, he supposed it really was the only way. He downed the rest of his wine and poured himself a second glass with a flourish. As he sipped this one, he paced around the room. The space felt small, cloying, almost like he was a wild animal forced to live out his life in a tiny cage.

There was a soft knock on the open door. Petyr turned just in time to see Sansa bow her head and sweep into a curtsy. Tonight her dress was a bright coral, and the reflections from it made her look flush in the candlelight. “Lord Baelish.”

“Sansa,” He mumbled, eyes sparkling. “Close the door, if you would.”

She did as she was bid, and Petyr strode back over to the desk and placed his cup down. He motioned for her to come see.

“What is this, my lord?” She asked as she picked up one of the letters and scanned it. “Is this…”

“They only need you signature. And your seal,” Petyr assured her as he pulled out a second glass, and poured her some wine. She took it from him warily, her gaze still fixed on the words swimming in front of her.

“You would have me call my banners? Before I even leave the Eyrie? There are more letters here than loyal bannermen left in the North. Who would I call that would come to my aid?  ” She laid the letter down and took a few gulps of wine, happily letting the warmth of it spread through her body to calm her nerves.

“One to the Mormonts. One to the Glovers. One to the Cerwyns. One to the Umbers. One to the Ryswells. If anyone is like to heed your call, it will be them. They still believe the Starks to be their liege lords, though there are no Starks in sight. They tolerate House Bolton; they do not love them.”

Sansa took another gulp of wine, steadying herself. She placed the cup on the table and picked up the letter once more, running her fingers over the words. Confused, she looked over the table at Baelish. “Five houses you think will stand with me. But there are six letters here.”

“The last is a long shot. The Brotherhood of the Night’s Watch has been ripped to shreds as of late, but perhaps they will help.”

“Why should they? They have their own war to fight it seems.”

“True, but both our wars have a common enemy.”

Sansa shrugged, realizing on some level that he may be right. “I will sign them. I can only hope it is not my death warrant I’m affixing my seal to.”

She leaned over each of the letters in turn, signing them each _Lady Sansa of House Stark._

When she was done, she pulled a thin silver chain from around her neck. A heavy ring bearing the direwolf sigil hung from it. She had had it made a few years back, as a way to remember. Petyr melted a stick of white candle wax and poured it over the folded edges of each letter. Sansa pressed the seal into each of them and returned the pendant to her neck, where it hung in front of her bodice, clashing with the pastel dress.

Petyr stacked the letters in one corner of the desk and then gulped down the last of his wine. “I will send the ravens tomorrow morning. In a few days, we will make for Greywater Watch. If they choose to help, your bannermen will meet us just south of there.”

Sansa glanced back at the stack of letters. “I’m scared. There are so many things that could…”

Petyr cut her off by placing a finger lightly on her lips. “You cannot dwell on those things. If you wish to retake Winterfell, this is a risk that must be taken.”

She nodded, and he let his hand drift from her mouth, across her bare neck. He picked up the ring on her necklace and stuffed it pointedly back into her bodice. She shivered at his touch, but pushed him away, “I am in mourning, Lord Baelish, as you well know.”

“Oh,” He laughed as he looked her up and down, “And is this the color of mourning?”

“No,” She replied quietly before she gained her voice again, “But that is hardly the point. The only man I’ve ever known was my lord husband, and I still have no intention of making you the second.”

“My lady, I meant no offense, and I apologize if I have insulted your honor. You are no whore, you are a queen. I have never made a secret of my interest, but if that is how you feel….”

“Petyr. It is likely that you are the most underhanded man I have ever known, but nonetheless, I trust you. Now is not the time.” She dipped into a polite curtsy and headed for the door, leaving him dumbstruck in the middle of the chamber. “Rest well, my lord. I want those ravens sent tomorrow morning with all haste.”

 


	3. The Freedom of Birds

“It has been five days. The letters should have reached their destinations by now. And so it is now that we must leave,” Petyr said as he sat at his desk, nibbling at a piece of cheese. Sansa sat across from him, arms crossed over her chest. “As soon as the sun rises, we will make for the edge of the Vale.”

“How long will it take us to reach Greywater Watch?”

“I cannot say for certain. At least a week. But I do not know who or what we will run into along the way.”

Sansa sighed and ate a grape from the plate sitting in front of her. “I’m still wary about hiring the Stone Crows. They sell their loyalty at a very low price.”

“Not _that_ low. It will be fine, my lady. I must go see to the horses, and make sure we have packed all we need. You had better eat more than that grape. This will be a long journey.” He stood and gave her a small smile as he left the room.

Sansa sighed and picked up another grape, rolling it idly between her fingers. For a second, she contemplated eating it, but in the end she just dropped it back onto the plate when she stood and smoothed down the front of her skirt. Today her dress was simple, dark gray and plain, with just a hint of embroidery around the unusually high neckline. All the better for traipsing through the wilderness, she had figured.

She crossed the room to the dresser and pulled her hair back from her face. Twisting her hair up, she clipped it against her head with a pin her husband had given her a year after their marriage. It was a row of red and white diamonds, the Hardyng crest. She was leaving most of her valuables at the Eyrie, especially those that could be used to identify her while on their journey, but she couldn’t bring herself to part with this particular piece.

Straightening her back, Sansa spun slowly in front of the mirror. She was full of nervous energy, and there was a small part of her that wanted to run around the room screaming. She smiled at the thought. It reminded her of something Arya would have done. _If Arya’s alive, I wonder if she’s still as wild, or if she’s somehow become a lady?_ Sansa found that the thought was not a comforting one; as much as Arya had annoyed her, it bothered her to think she could have changed that much.

A sudden knock at the door startled her and she let out a soft gasp of relief as Petyr came back in. She followed his gaze to the window. The sky was mostly dark, but there was a distinct soft gray edging up over the horizon. “Everything is ready, my lady. We can leave as soon as you’d like.”

Sansa glanced around the room and traced a hand over the edge of the dresser. “I’ve been here a long time. I did not think I would, but I may miss it after all.” Her time at the Eyrie had had its ups and downs. It was marred by fear and the destruction of her family, but there had been good times as well. She had made friends, commanded a household, grown rather fond of her husband.

“But there is nothing for me here anymore. It’s time to go home,” She said quietly, mostly to herself. She glanced back at the mirror once more, checking that she was presentable, but that her standing was not immediately obvious. Satisfied, Sansa didn’t even say anything as she brushed past Petyr and out the door.

A little more than an hour later, they began to guide their horses over the rocky path down the mountain. Sansa had been silent since they left, and Petyr couldn’t decide if she was scared, tired, or if her silence stemmed from something else. Every once in a while he glanced over at her, but her eyes were always on the path ahead. By now the sun had risen and the day was bright, if a little bit chilly.

Sansa wore a thick red cloak, which was whipping around in the wind; she had the hood pulled up over her head against the breeze. Petyr was just about to warn her that they were nearing Stone Crow land when a spear went flying past about ten feet in front of them. “Sansa,” Petyr had time to choke out a warning, but she had seen it, too, and she reigned the horse back. Shagga stepped out from behind a pile of broken boulders with a crooked grin on his face.

“The Snake and his wolf girl. You should take care. Mountains are full of enemies.”

Petyr jumped down from his horse, glaring at Shagga. “You made a promise.”

“And we keep it,” Shagga said, shaking his head. “Get back on your horse. We go now. We are ready, like we said.”

Petyr nodded warily, but remounted his horse, walking it closer to Sansa than he had before. Shagga and a few large men went in front of him, but the majority of their entourage, about two dozen Stone Crows, fell into step behind them.

Sansa was still not convinced that this entire thing was a good idea, but Petyr looked at her pleadingly. _He just wants me to be safe. If this is how it must be done…._ She squared her shoulders and pulled her cloak a little tighter.

The day passed slowly, and the descent from the mountains provided much rough terrain. The monotony was really only broken when they stopped to each a quick lunch, and subsequently when the Stone Crows broke into periodic travelling songs. At lunch, Sansa barely nibbled on the piece of bread she had been offered, but her spirits seemed to lighten considerably once her escorts started singing. She even worked up the courage to ask one of the less frightening-looking mountain men what one of the songs was about.

He eyed her suspiciously, but eventually answered, “Freedom. The freedom of birds in the mountains and the sky.”

She smiled genuinely for the first time all day, “A worthy topic for such a lovely song.”

The man nodded at Sansa and then disappeared back into the throng of his brethren behind her. She continued to listen to their songs and conversations with interest, eventually deciding that the Stone Crows were not as savage as they would have everyone believe.

When they stopped for the night, they made sure Sansa had space to wash in private, and they let her sleep closest to the fire.

Petyr woke her just as the sun was rising over the mountain behind them. “Lady Sansa, we must continue on.” She blinked up at him for a moment, but once her senses had returned to her, she nodded and stood up carefully, brushing the dirt and small stones off of her cloak.

This is the way that it went for more than a week as they travelled northwest through the mountains, in the direction of the Kingsroad. When they finally made it out of the mountains, it took them only another day to reach the Kingsroad. On the road, their travel would me much faster, but they would be a suspicious group. Luckily, Greywater Watch was only a few days ride from where they had met the road.

When they reached the marshes of the crannogmen, they left the Kingsroad and set up their final camp exactly where Petyr had said they would in his six letters, two hours south of Greywater Watch. As the Stone Crows set about making fires and finding ground dry enough to sleep on, Sansa sat down against a tree and watched them.

She was exhausted, but glad that the first portion of the journey was over. Now she had to wait to see if any of her bannermen responded to her call. If they did not, this might be the end of her journey, rather than the first part. If they did, she had an extremely long road ahead of her.

Petyr noticed her sitting alone and sat down next to her. “Welcome to Greywater Watch, well, almost.”

Sansa smiled at him as she reached up to unclip the pin in her hair. It fell across her shoulders and she shook it out. Having it up for so long was beginning to give her a headache. She avoided his eyes. “Do you think anyone will come?”

“There is no way to know. But the northmen are known for their fierce loyalty. We have to believe they will.”


End file.
